See the brave toreador Just look at him thrive Off the crowd as they roar. For death brings a thrill To the everyday lives of the "non-com" observers Who gloat and chastise My mind can't believe we maintain This barbarous blood thirsty game. In their picturesque dwellings the aristo-classes Spill blood that's not claret from cut-crystal glasses. Never once pausing to contemplate why For vanity's victories innocents die. No better than bloodhounds Hot on the scent They butcher their prey When its' energy's spent My mind can't believe we maintain This barbarous blood thirsty game. Please show me this "sportsman" You mention with pride With his dog to defend him And his gun at his side If courage is the one thing Your kind do not lack Then why don't you hunt something That can fight you back? I see only cowardice ridden by guilt And your hands won't wash clean of the blood they have spilt. What measure of madness makes you all so ill That your passport to pleaseure's a licence to kill? So I won't waste my time trying to understand why For vanity's victories innocents die 'Cus you're all vicious bastards I'm sick of your crap So I won't bat an eyelid when it's you in the trap. I still can't believe we maintain This barbarous blood thirsty game.